


On the Outside Looking In

by AidanChase



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Biracial, Character Development, Frozen Heart, Gen, Introducing Hans's Family, Redemption, all 12 of them, multicultural brothers, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1418864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidanChase/pseuds/AidanChase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In many cultures and many philosophies the soul has been split into three parts. The mind, the spirit, and the body. The wind, fire, and earth. Or, more commonly referred to as: The Head, the Heart, and the Hands.</p><p>Anna's mind was frozen as a child, her heart as an adult. And Hans suffered something else.</p><p>In the days before his trial, Hans is visited by his twelve brothers, and they all have something different to ask of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Common Earth

**Author's Note:**

> My new favorite Hans-wasn't-really-evil theory is that the trolls did something to him. Trolls always have ulterior motives and I can't believe those trolls just helped a princess out for no price or anything. I don't trust them.
> 
> But before I read that theory, I had my own theory, and this is the resolution of it.

_Hans burst through the doors of the ice palace and screamed for Elsa to stop. She couldn’t kill these men. He knew it wasn’t her, wasn’t what she really wanted. She’d been so kind earlier that evening, if a bit brusque—_

_"Don’t become the monster they fear you are," he pleaded with her._

_And she seemed to hear him, and understand, because she stopped and looked at him. He could see it in her eyes—lost, alone, confused—for the briefest of moments. (But maybe he regretted his warning, because in an effort to save her he brought the ice chandelier down on her head.)_

_And after she collapsed, and he picked her up, he was unsurprised to find her cold as ice. (She was an ice queen after all.) He adjusted her in his arms, thinking if he held her close he might be able to keep her warm. He didn’t trust any of the other men to take her back, so he carried her on his horse himself. But instead of feeling her grow warmer beneath his weight, he only felt his own body grow colder, like something was pushing everything warm in him out._

————————

Hans didn’t wake up until the ship docked in the Southern Isles. He was eager to leave the hold. It was cold down here, and it smelled of vomit. (He had been violently seasick at least twice.)

His escorts—he sneered at the thought of him, a prince, being escorted—at least had the decency not to cuff him. What a disgrace it would’ve been for a prince to be escorted off a ship in chains, for the whole kingdom to see.

And of course they knew better than to chain him in a cell. Royalty deserved better treatment than that. Even thirteenth sons.

He was taken to the top of a tower, but it was well-furnished. He had more than basic comforts: a bed with a mattress and feather-down pillows, a selection of some of his best clothes, a desk and even a quill and ink for writing letters. They did not, however, leave him the necessary wax and crest to seal his letters with. Even royal prisoners didn’t get afforded that sort of privacy (at least not ones charged with treason).

It wasn’t long before he had visitors.

Their father had three wives. The first was a woman of noble birth, and her sons were the eldest, and the first heirs to the throne. She bore three children. The second wife was a woman from a distant land and she mothered six children, including a set of triplets. And lastly, Hans’ mother, a woman of common birth, had given the king four children, including Hans.

At 19, Hans was the youngest. The others were Dahl, Andren, and Ensio. Ensio was only 20, his closest brother—or would have been, if Andren, just ten months older, hadn’t been so close to Ensio when they were kids. And then there was Dahl, at 22, who had always behaved like he was the oldest child, even if he was really the tenth prince in line for the throne. In Dahl’s defense, Hans, Ensio, and Andren had looked up to him like the oldest. Hans learned a lot of his political manners from watching Dahl charm his way into the court.

It was these three brothers that came to visit him his second day home. The guard knocked on his door and opened it without waiting for his permission. His body tensed at the invasion of privacy, but he held his tongue while the guard announced his brothers.

Hans sat down at his desk as they entered, filling out the chair as if it was his own personal throne (what was the point in hiding his ambitions now?). He kept his face cold as Andren lounged comfortably on his bed, though he felt like ripping the sheets out from underneath him. Ensio took a hesitant seat next to Andren, and Dahl remained standing.

It was a brief uncomfortable silence (Hans thought suddenly of Anna, her own awkwardness and need for noise) until Andren broke it with a cough and started, “So, was it a good trip?” Andren gave him the cockiest of grins that grated against Hans’s cold chest.

Ensio laughed uncomfortably, until he was silenced by a stern glare from Dahl.

"This isn’t something to make jokes about," and Dahl turned his stare onto Hans.

It felt like Dahl had pushed a slab of ice against his body—everything went cold and flat and the air rushed out of his lungs.

Hans didn’t expect to feel anything after nineteen years of enduring Dahl’s mild disapproval of everything he did (or tried to do). Why he suddenly went cold under it now surprised and confused him, but he ignored the feeling and answered evenly, “It was only a joke to begin with, wasn’t it?”

"A joke you really took to far, then," Andren said with raised eyebrows. "I didn’t actually mean murder princesses when I said you had a shot at your own kingdom."

When Andren and Ensio had come to say goodbye to Hans just before he left, Ensio had said, “I hear the princesses are pretty.”

Hans had rolled his eyes and said, “No one’s seen them in years. They’re probably as awkward as the old hermit who peddles at the castle gate.”

"Then they should be perfect for you," Andren had teased, "and then you’d have your own kingdom and everything."

"I’m going to represent the Southern Isles," Hans had answered evenly. "If you’re so keen on wife and kingdom, go yourself."

"Let me just explain that to my current wife and see how she feels about it." Andren had snorted, then clapped Hans on the shoulder, and wished him luck. That was the last time Hans had seen his brothers.

"I didn’t murder anyone," Hans snapped at them, back in the tower, and clenched his hand into a fist.

"You tried to behead the Queen of Arendelle!" Dahl shouted at him. "You as good as murdered someone. Do you understand that? A war could hang in the balance. In which any of us could fight and die in. Doesn’t that mean something to you?"

Of course Dahl cared more about the consequences than any sort of motivation for his actions. Dahl always cared about the consequences of what Hans did—never why Hans did anything—just how it affected him personally.

Hans sneered, “Should it? At this point, I won’t be the one going to war. Looks like I’m to spend the rest of my life in this little room with only my quills for company.”

"Do you like them?" Ensio piqued up. "I picked them out for you myself."

He glanced at the pens on his desk as Dahl said tersely, “However long that life is.”

Hans’s neck whipped back to Dahl. “What does that mean?”

"That means your life is on trial, Hans. Not just your freedom. If Arendelle were to ask for your execution, I think the King would comply."

The sudden coldness that gripped his chest couldn’t be anything other than absolute, untempered fear.

"Everyone’s a bit wary of Arendelle right now," Andren said quietly. "They’ve got a powerful queen and no one knows what she would do if angered. It’d be pretty smart to get on her good side."

Hans’s upper lip curled. “She can’t even control her powers.”

"Another reason not to test her," Dahl quickly cut in.

Dahl was always quick to overrun him, to behave like he was in charge. Hans tightened his hand around the arm of his chair. This place felt so oppressive. He felt like screaming, like leaping out the window and free-falling, like running and never stopping for breath.

Hans pressed his lips together in a firm line. “Then why are the three of you here?” he said with as little movement as possible, like if he moved at all he might burst.

"We wanted to make sure you were okay—" Ensio started.

Andren overran him: “Something obviously went wrong and we just wanted to understand—”

"Because clearly you didn’t understand the weight of your actions," Dahl finished.

"Well, now I do. War for you and death for me. Sounds delightful. Now why don’t the three of you leave me to my thoughts of lost dreams while I still have them." Hans stood and folded his hands behind his back, not budging when Andren paused awkwardly for a handshake or when Ensio reached out to hug him.

"You don’t have to be so cold," Ensio said quietly. "We’re still family."

But as the door closed behind his brothers, Hans felt nothing but cold. He sank into his chair and looked at the empty fireplace, wondering if it was possible for him to get a servant up here to start the fire.


	2. Exotic Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hans's second set of brothers come to visit him. All six of them. They are more interested in getting to the heart of what's wrong with Hans.

Before his trial, Hans had six more unexpected visitors.

His father’s second wife was a woman from a distant land. She had dark skin and long dark hair that she never cut. Her sons all looked similar to her, with varying shades of copper skin and hair length. Sunil was the youngest—still three years Hans’ elder—and, like his mother, had never cut his hair. He was deeply involved in their mother’s religion and from what Hans knew of him, he was considered something of a holy man. Religious power, he supposed, was a viable option for a son who couldn’t ascend to a throne, but had never suited him, personally.

A year older than Sunil was Prem, who had adapted a lot more to the culture of the Southern Isles, and genuinely seemed to enjoy being a prince. It probably helped that was the lightest-skinned of the six children.

Then there were the triplets: Avish, Arnav, and Vayu. Hans had never understood them (which was odd; he prided himself on figuring people out). They were six years older than him and had always been their own little clique. They communicated to each other without speaking, in ways no one else could understand. The solidarity they shared was probably what kept them from needing to feel a part of one culture or the other, and instead developed their own way of doing things that was neither customary to the Southern Isles or their mother’s home country.

And Indivar was the eldest of those six. He was a high-ranking military official. Hans had learned a lot about strategy from observing Indivar (and sneaking into military meetings).

Hans had no idea why these brothers felt the need to see him. Maybe Sunil was giving him last rites or something, and Indivar was the protection against any treason he might try to commit. He didn’t even know if Sunil believed in last rites.

Hans didn’t even know if he believed in last rites. He hadn’t thought about it. Maybe he should. He felt cold as death already.

The six walked in, looking exactly as Hans had expected: grim-faced, wary, and unsure of what they were doing there. They were only his half-brothers, anyway. Why did they care to come at all?

The triplets, immediately and in unison, pulled their coats off. “Why is it so hot in here?”

But Hans ignored them as they sat down on his bed and turned his attention to Indivar, who was handing him a letter.

The broken seal belonged Arendelle, and it was addressed to the court of the Southern Isles.

"Should a traitor really be reading international correspondence?" Hans sneered as he took the parchment. Though he didn’t need to read it, because Indivar told him everything important in it anyway.

"The king has written to Arendelle about your situation and received a reply. Queen Elsa of Arendelle is sending an emissary to preside over the case, and if you’re convicted," (as if there was any other option than conviction), "the emissary will recommend your punishment."

"But ultimately, the judge will be ours, won't it?" Hans said and returned the letter. There was no hope in his voice. He only had one option: life in prison. It was only a question of how long his life would be. With a blank face, he went to his desk and pulled his gloves on.

"Ultimately, the judge is the king," Indivar corrected.

"Oh. We’re doing that court," he said grimly.

"You did sort of commit an international crime," Prem said.

"Dahl mentioned something about starting a war," Hans sniffed and took a seat in his desk chair, now moved closer to the fireplace.

"Do you need that burning in the summer?" one of the triplets asked (Avish, maybe?).

"I’m afforded few comforts in isolation. I’ll take what I can get while I can get it," was his only explanation as he adjusted the cuffs of his coat. He didn’t know how to explain that he was as cold as Christmas even in the middle of July with a roaring fire in his room (other than to admit he was scared).

The second triplet (Vayu?) raised a questioning eyebrow. “You’re not even breaking a sweat.”

And then Arnav—“He’s a perfect prince. Perfect princes don’t break sweats.”

And the triplets snickered. A running gag between them about Hans’s intense drive for perfection. Like that was his fault, growing up in twelve large shadows. What else was there to do to stand out except master everything?

"Your ambitions have backfired," Sunil said calmly (the most gentle voice Hans had heard since his time in Arendelle). "Your desires for earthly power are holding you back. If you’re unhappy, you should try to live with nothing—"

Hans snorted. “When I feel like getting rid of my boots, I’ll let you know.”

"Why did you do it?"

Hans turned to the window, surprised to see Prem leaning against the frame and looking out. But he couldn’t answer exactly, only ask, “Why not?”

Prem turned around and shrugged his shoulders. “Because we have everything we could want. We’re wealthy, have political influence and power—what difference does it make if you have a throne? A king’s life is busy, weighed with so many concerns. As a prince you have all the freedom and none of the responsibilities.”

Hans knew that line of reasoning. He felt like dismissing it, telling Prem he had only an illusion of power and would never know the real thing, but Prem looked so earnest (as earnest as Ensio had looked before Dahl ran him down). He glanced between Sumil and Indivar, and both looked like they were waiting expectantly for an answer. The triplets were looking at each other—Hans had no idea what they were saying.

So instead of dismissing it, he surprised himself by answering as honestly as he could. “I was content when I left. Andren jokingly suggested I return a king. And when Anna put me in charge,” he paused, trying to sort out where everything changed. He’d been content to marry Anna, and then Anna had left, and then—(then what?). “I realized I was good at it. I was a far better king than prince. Why should I give Arendelle back? I was good for the kingdom, and if the emissary has any sense, he’ll see that. I was a victim of circumstance more than anything.” Hans folded his arms over his chest and slouched in his seat. Surely he looked like a sullen child but he hardly cared. He just wanted out of here. He just wanted freedom. He just wanted to be warm again.

"If you ever want to learn, I will teach you," Sumil said and put a hand on his shoulder.

Hans watched as Sumil pulled his hand away and looked at Hans strangely, then finished his offer with, “But I can only instruct you as far as you are willing to go.”

Hans noticed the triplets whispering to each other in the background and got to his feet. “I think I have a lot of things to think about. Like my mortality. If you’ll excuse me,” and he motioned to the door.

Sumil and Prem were the first to leave him. The triplets gave him an odd look. Vayu paused, shook his hand, then ran to catch up with his brothers, with an excited look in his eyes. Hans frowned after the three of them, then turned to Indivar, who was lingering.

"I don’t know what Dahl said, but we’re not going to war."

Hans furrowed his brow. “What if Arendelle has unreasonable demands for the Southern Isles?”

"If the emissary has any sense," Indivar started, clearing mocking Hans’s earlier childishness with his "adult reasoning," "he’ll treat you as individual and not recommend punishment to the state. And as for you, there are no unreasonable demands."

His hands tightened into fists at his sides as Indivar closed the door. When heard the lock click, Hans kicked over his desk chair. It fell into the fire and he ignored it, even when it began to smolder. Of course there were no unreasonable demands. He was a 13th son. There were twelve other healthy, well-suited young men to take up any royal duties needed. He was an extra, useless, unneeded.

He felt the cold creep up into his throat and he sank down next to the fireplace, watching his desk chair blacken. The when it ignited, he still continued to watch it burn. He kicked it farther into the fire, but even the large flame it fueled wasn’t enough to drive out the icy fear that was taking over every inch of his body.


	3. Noble Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hans three oldest brothers come to visit him. You know, the ones that pretended he was invisible for three years.

The day before his trial, Hans was curled up under his covers. He didn't want to get out of bed. He didn't want to look outside or even try stoking the fire again. He just wanted to melt under the blankets. He was so cold (and angry and scared).

He didn't deserve to go through this. He would have made such a good king. He could've been a perfect husband. A perfect everything for Anna and Arendelle. He still wasn't entirely sure where everything went wrong. 

His hands had been drawn into fists around the bed sheets for hours and he wasn't sure they would ever come unclenched. He'd have to walk down to the trial with a blanket dragging in front of him. And something in his gut _hurt_ like it was weighted with lead from a cannon. (Guilt? Fear? Something worse?)

There was a knock on his door and he groaned into his pillow case. But his protest was futile--they had never waited for his permission to enter before, and now was no different. He pulled the blanket over his face without looking to see who had come into his room.

"Hans, are you in there somewhere?"

Reluctantly, he pulled the covers back to see Erik. What was Erik, of all people, doing here? And as he sat up, he saw that his three oldest brothers were actually all here--including the king.

Erik, Frederick, and Christian (King Christian, as he had been the last decade or so) were all from Hans's father's first wife. There were separated from Hans not only by ten years but by a vast gap in certain social standing. Their mother was nobility, mostly a political match, whereas Hans's mother had been a common woman that the king married much later in his life. These were the three brothers who had pretended he was invisible for two years, the three brothers who ignored him and never saw the potential in what he could be. And the more Hans looked at them, the angrier he got, and the colder he got.

"What do you want?" he asked sharply, glowering at each of them.

"We're just here to check on you," Erik said with a gentle smile, but Hans didn't believe any of it for a moment.

He'd never trusted Erik. If his adept ability at deception had been learned from his brothers, it was Erik who was his best teacher. So he looked to Frederick, who was, as usual, impenetrable as stone, and finally to Christian, who looked surprisingly genuine in his concern.

If Hans had learned lying from Erik, then he learned leadership from Christian. Christian had been groomed since an infant to be King, and he Hans always thought he had the nature to be a good one (except for that whole ignoring his baby brother for two years bit).

So he repeated his question to Christian. "Why are you here?"

Christian shifted and took a step away from the bed. "We really are only checking on you. The triplets thought... Well, we decided it would be a good idea for Frederick to have a look at you before your trial tomorrow."

Hans searched Christian's face (was that fear? on a king's face?) and at least there wasn't a complete lie in it, even if he was hiding something. So he pulled the blankets away and with as much will as he could muster, unclenched his hands from the sheets and sat on the edge of the bed so Frederick could do a check up on him.

Frederick had studied to be a doctor. For whatever reason, political power didn't interest him, and while Christian studied politics, Frederick studied medicine.

"You're cold as ice," Frederick murmured as he checked the color in Hans' cheeks.

Hans only shrugged his shoulders.

"Is it his humors?" Christian asked anxiously.

Frederick shrugged his shoulders. "His color seems fine. But he's cold. Which...."

"Is there something wrong with me?" Hans tried to keep the hope out of his voice. What was there to be hopeful about? An insanity plea wouldn't save him.

"The triplets suggested to me that--well, they didn't put it this way, but that perhaps your humors were out of balance." Frederick took Hans' hand in his and checked the pulse on his wrist. "Avish said, more specifically, that your earth might be heavy. But with the way the triplets speak, I can only assume that meant your humors were off. But my diagnosis, at least with your sharp tongue, would be that your blood is too hot, yet you're freezing. What happened to you in Arendelle?"

"I got engaged, got named a temporary regent, got married, then my wife died, and I tried to kill the Queen who murdered her sister--my wife--but as it turns out, no one died and I'm a murderer." Hans rolled his eyes. He knew his brothers had heard every side of this story, and everything was going to be said again tomorrow at the trial, so he didn't bother being serious in his reply.

"We're asking because we want to help," Christian said quietly.

"And don't you think it's a little late for that?"

King or not, Hans knew his older brothers had never been kind to him. It was nothing but relentless teasing from the three of them and he didn't know why they would show such interest now when he was a threat to their national security.

"Could it be a curse?" Erik asked, and Hans tried to ignore the fact that Erik sounded excited.

Frederick frowned. "A month ago I wouldn't have believed it was possible, but after everything that's happened in Arendelle, ignoring the possibility of magic seems illogical."

"So we call a witch now?" Christian asked.

"There's hardly time for that," Hans interrupted. "Considering I'll be losing my head tomorrow, you'd be wasting you're time. Unless you think having a witch examine my corpse would be useful."

"No one has decided on execution," Christian said firmly. "We don't know what will happen at the trial tomorrow."

"I think we all know exactly what will happen."

"We have no choice but to go along with whatever Arendelle asks. But you haven't even been convicted yet."

Hans laughed (for the first time since his night with Anna) but it was a bitter laugh. "Ever the politician, aren't you? You're the king now. Your word is absolute. Don't pretend you don't know what will happen tomorrow. You've been talking to Arendelle since I returned and everyone knows you'll sacrifice me to prevent a war. In fact, I'd appreciate it if you all left, so I can spend my last moments with company I actually enjoy--my own."

The hurt on Christian's face was strangely satisfactory, but Erik's impressed expression made Hans scowl in return.

"I'll have some hot water sent up," Frederick said quietly as he left.

"Don't bother," Hans snapped after him.

Erik left with a satisfied smirk, but Christian lingered.

"Hans, don't pretend we don't care."

"You didn't care for nineteen years. Did you have a change of heart while I was gone? Or do you feel guilty that the way you treated me produced a traitor?"

"This isn't you."

"Unfortunately, even a king's word can't change who and what I am."

"If I could arrange for your freedom I--"

"Don't."

Christian let out a slow breath and walked to the door. "Hans, I am sorry."

"For what?"

"For whatever happens tomorrow. I may be a king, but my hands are tied, and I wish I could do something for you. And for everything that's come before."

"You're nineteen years too late for that."

Christian looked like he might try to apologize again, but with every fiber of his being Hans willed him to go, and it must have been obvious in his face because Christian left without another word.

Hans sank back into his bed and pulled the covers up. He pretended to be asleep when hot water was brought up and completely ignored whoever put a warm towel over his forehead. There wasn't anything that could save him now. There was no point in trying. He was as good as dead.


	4. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the day of the trial. What fate does the emissary of Arendelle have in store for Hans? And does it even matter, or will Hans freeze to death first?

It took all of his effort to get dressed that morning. Hans was determined to be a perfect prince, above such pitiful proceedings, but his hands wouldn't stop shaking, and his body felt stiff. When the guards finally came to escort him away, he found himself stumbling. He'd never thought of himself as this weak. (If only he could stop shaking.)

The walk down from his tower prison to the court was a long one. His feet were so heavy more than once a guard had to prod him along (like a common prisoner).

They took him to a room adjacent to the court. Hans stared at the doors into the court room, face blank. All his resolve to be a perfect prince was useless. He felt cold and stiff and there was no amount of willpower strong enough to change it.

The doors behind him opened. His head wouldn't move on its own; he had to turn his entire body to see the triplets walk in. The guards on either side of him took a step away. Of course, they gave space for princes.

Vayu took his hand but Hans ripped it away. "What are you doing here?" he snapped at them.

"We went to the yasha," Avish said.

"You're cold as ice," Arnav said, "and the yasha said--"

"--you're freezing to death," Vayu said. "Because your earth--"

"--your hands--" Arnav explained.

"--the base drives of your soul--" Avish said.

"--are out of balance," Vayu finished.

"It'd be easier if you just talked in unison," Hans frowned.

The triplets exchanged a glance, Vayu signed something, and then they all turned back to Hans.

Avish explained, "Your soul has many parts. The most active are your head, your heart, and your hands." Hans flinched as he touched each in turn. "Your hands are about action, drive, your earth element. And the energy is located in your stomach. Your hands or your stomach were cursed--"

"--frozen--" Arnav filled in.

"Most likely," Vayu said, "by the Queen of Arendelle. And that's why you're so cold. You'll turn to ice if you're not healed."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" As if it mattered. He'd be executed soon enough. Who cared what happened to his hands or his stomach or whatever if he was missing his head?

"The yasha said only an act of mercy can save action, just as love saves the heart," Arnav answered.

For the first time since he left Arendelle, Hans felt a glimmer of hope. "Did you tell Christian?"

And then the triplet's excitement turned downcast.

"We did," Avish answered.

"And he said--" Arnav started.

"That he wouldn't risk my safety for the kingdom," Hans finished before Vayu could jump in. The talking in turns was more obnoxious than he remembered. "Typical."

"There's still time for him to change his mind," Vayu said.

"You can't lose hope," Arnav tried.

"We'll do anything we can," Avish said.

But Hans had already lost that faint hope. Christian was a good king, a good leader, who would put the people's safety and well-being above even his own life, much less his youngest, troublesome half-brother.

The guards stepped forward and the triplets moved back towards the door. It was time. Hans had a "trial" to attend. More than anything it was a sentence hearing and less of an actual trial, but that didn't matter much. He was guilty, after all (at least, as far as anyone else could understand).

The double doors to the courtroom opened and the guards prodded Hans through until he stood in the center of a court. He could feel the eyes of earls and lords behind him, the eyes of all eleven of his prince brothers, and in front of him, King Christian sat on a throne and at his right hand, the emissary from Arendelle--

His entire body went stiff and cold. Hans wasn't entirely sure he was human anymore--maybe he was all ice. Maybe he was as frozen as Anna said he was. Anna....

She looked exactly as she had the night of the coronation, maybe a little more put together. She wore a different dress from that night. This one had a black bodice with embroidery in magentas and teals, and the skirt was a dark blue paneled skirt laid over a sky blue under skirt, with silver embroidery exposed in the middle. Her hair was down, loose about her face, and her cheeks had a healthy glow to them. She looked fully recovered from her battle with the ice in her heart.

If there was ever any hope at all for Hans' fate, it was gone. Anna was the last person who would show him mercy (and he was the last person who deserved her mercy).

She tucked some of her hair back behind her ear as the court sat down. Hans, however, remained standing in the middle.

As the members of the court began to read through the procedures of the trial and go through the necessary formalities--a reading of Hans' crimes, the witness reports, etc--Hans kept his eyes on Anna. She seemed to be looking everywhere but at him, and he watched her fidget with her hair, pulling it into braids then pulling them out. Once, she flicked her eyes to him, and when she found him staring quickly looked away.

"Prince Hans of the Southern Isles--"

He quickly turned his attention to King Christian on the throne before him.

"--do you understand the charges against you?"

He truly hadn't been listening, but he answered, "Yes," without hesitation.

"Do you dispute anything that's been said here today?"

"No." He meant to shake his head, but he found his neck stiff and impossible to move.

With equally stiff fingers he pulled the gloves off of one hand as subtly as he could and found his fingers less fleshy and more like solid ice. It was really happening. This was it. No matter what the sentence coming to him, he was receiving his due justice.

"Then, as King of The Southern Isles," Christian began, and his voice was heavy not just with power, but with honest heartache, "I defer to the offended princess, Anna of Arendelle for the prisoner's punishment."

Hans quickly pulled his glove back on and looked at Anna. She had a braid on one side of her head, half-tugged out, and on the other side her hair hung loose. She quickly combed the half-braid out with her fingers, cleared her throat, and got to her feet.

"I, Princess Anna of Arendelle," she began in a stately voice that sounded so unlike her, "do hereby... uh... suggest, er, recommend, that Prince Hans of the Southern Isles--" (her voice caught in the middle of his name) "--in accordance with his crimes against the myself, Queen Elsa of Arendelle, and the state of Arendelle, his senten--Oh my gosh--"

It was like the world stilled. He was hanging on to her every word, a strange awkward attempt at formality, waiting with baited breath for her decree. Then again, his breath wasn't so much baited as it was that his lungs suddenly ceased to work, and his body was no longer like ice, but everything honestly was ice, and the last thing Hans saw was her face, full of concern (concern, for him?), fading in a white haze.

And then he was gasping for breath and he collapsed to his knees. It was like his body went from stone to water and he was suddenly a puddle on the floor. His forehead was pressed to the floor as he filled his lungs, felt them move, felt his body fill with warmth.

It was a warmth like he hadn't felt since he was five years old and Ensio was pulling him into a hug outside their sick mother's bedroom

since Andren had shared a stolen pie with him

since Dahl had loaned him one of his favorite books

since Sunil had taught him meditation

since Prem had snuck him into a party past his bed time

since Avish, Arnav, and Vayu had shared with him their secret garden

since Indivar had explained to him how to read a map

since Erik had showed him the best place to eavesdrop on secret meetings

since Frederick had showed him how to listen to a heartbeat

since Christian had taken him into the throne room on one quiet night and confided in him all his fears about becoming king.

He lifted his head to see Christian in front of him, crown askew, arms gripping his shoulders, helping him to his feet. And then Frederick was at his side, hand to his face, then checking his pulse. And Ensio and Andren, and Dahl and Erik and Indivar and Sunil and Prem and Avish, Arnav, and Vayu--all of them were crowding around him.

They were all asking him questions (he couldn't make it all out) and helping him to his feet. Hans didn't know where the guards had gone, but suddenly his brothers parted and in front of him stood Anna, and her voice cut through the noise like a sword through a curtain.

"Are you okay?"

Hans flexed his hand, feeling the blood flowing, and put it over his heart. "I think so. Anna... did you...?"

All of her stately grace vanished as she fidgeted with her hair, then her skirt, then her hair again. "Well--I just, Kristoff and I have been talking about forgiveness, and you know, I keep telling him to give people a chance and then I thought I should take my own advice, but he said you weren't the right person to take a chance on, but Elsa said to follow my heart, and I didn't know what I was going to do, but then you looked so lonely and so I--I mean, well, I think I pardoned you, but you turned to ice and I don't know which happened first. I guess it kind of all happened at once--"

The triplets all jumped on her, hugging her tightly. She laughed her high-pitched nervous giggle and hugged them back. "Great! You know--I'm really not your sister-in-law-to-be, I mean, that's not a thing--anymore."

"Could you be?" Ensio asked with a bit of hope in his voice.

"I think that ship sailed," Hans said quietly and briefly glanced at Anna and she gave him an awkward half-smile in return, but he knew she agreed with him. No matter what curse had happened to tear them apart, some part of everything he did had been him, and she would always remember him that way. And he'd remember her the same way he'd seen her when cursed. She may have forgiven him, but they both knew there was no going back.

"It might be good for you to stay in the Southern Isles for a while," she suggested.

And as Christian wrapped an arm around his shoulders, Hans thought that he might not actually want to be anywhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is still one of my favorite fics I've written. Maybe because I got to develop a lot of original characters, or maybe because it plays on my favorite archetype of the Platonic virtues hah. I'm such a nerd. Either way, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. I really like the brothers... so you might expect more from me about Hans' family.... We'll see. I just like big families with lots of boys and lots of conflict, apparently.


End file.
